


always faithful

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: inception_kink, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Military Background, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Arthur,” Eames said, as if calling him from another room, but keeping his tone calm and steady. “Arthur. You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me and Cobb.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	always faithful

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/20822.html?thread=51700054) on inception_kink. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

Eames couldn’t help admiring the Cobbs’ sleek little point man, Arthur. He was fairly suave, but harsh, blunt, and cutting when he needed to be, especially with Cobb, and with Eames rather more often than he’d like. Green, young, but a quick study. He was gentlemanly with Mal in a way that tickled Eames, who grinned at him far more often than was advisable. Still, it was good to be working with him on this job.

As he, Arthur, and Cobb walked through the afternoon sunlight of this small town, Eames could hear children playing in the distance, at ball in an alley, perhaps. Cars honked meaninglessly in the morass of traffic. Eames was used to it all and paid it no heed. At the sound of a string of firecrackers a block or so away, however, he did startle, but briefly. What sounded like an M-80 went off.

At his side, he saw Arthur turn white and drop like a stone, as if shot. Fearing that might be the case, in a split second Eames dropped to his knees beside him, old training kicking in.

“Arthur.”

Cobb had paused nearby, entirely useless.

“Arthur.”

Arthur, having backed against the brick building, was staring into the distance at nothing, eyes wide, curling into a ball and starting to hyperventilate. He was starting to speak, but having trouble.

“Arthur.” Eames placed firm hands on Arthur’s shoulders, and Arthur finally faced him, blinking rapidly. “Can you hear me?”

“They’re -- they’re -- We gotta get out of here,” Arthur panted. Eames sensed Cobb hovering, bewildered. At least he was standing near them, prepared to cover if there was a threat, but otherwise he was no help. And it was increasingly clear to Eames that the only true threat was to Arthur, in Arthur’s head.

The laughing children kept setting off their strings of bursting firecrackers, and then another M-80 went off and Arthur yelped, slamming his hands over his ears.

Eames firmly grasped Arthur’s jaw, staying directly in his field of vision. Arthur was panting harshly, faster, eyes threatening to close, still white as a sheet. Eames sensed him tensing as if to fight. Wouldn’t do to hold Arthur so tightly he’d start to perceive him as a threat. Shushing him gently, Eames loosened his hold, but couldn’t fight the urge to cage Arthur with his knees and elbows, wanting to keep him from flailing in panic, which would only make it worse.

“Arthur,” Eames said, as if calling him from another room, but keeping his tone calm and steady. “Arthur. You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me and Cobb.” Arthur let out a little strangled sound, mouth dropping open. 

“You’re here,” Eames repeated, softer. “That’s just children playing. You’re not there anymore, Arthur.” 

He looked horrifically young, with such a profound despair in his eyes. It reminded Eames of far too many people he’d known.

Those damnable children set off another M-80, and another string of popping firecrackers, and Arthur folded into himself and started hyperventilating again. Eames’ stomach dropped. “Bloody-- Right, I’m getting him out of here,” Eames said, standing and pulling Arthur with him, putting an arm over his shoulder. He was almost a dead weight, sagging against Eames. Eames looked to Cobb, silently challenging.

Cobb nodded, and shrugged, looking uncertain. “If you’re sure. We still need to check out the mark’s property in the city as soon as we can.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you, and you can bloody well do it yourself if it’s that important. In the meantime, your friend and colleague is nearly incapacitated and I could certainly use some assistance in getting him back to the hotel.”

After a pause, Cobb nodded again, and went to Arthur’s other side, putting an arm around his waist.

They hustled Arthur away from the firecrackers, back to the hotel; he walked on his own, though he still leaned on them a bit, and he didn’t speak. Neither did they.

The three of them had three adjoining suites, Arthur’s in the middle. “I’ve got him,” Eames said shortly, as Cobb held the door open for them. “Get back out there or make some notes, make some calls, and I’ll tell you when he’s up to snuff again.” Cobb nodded, hands in his pockets, and Eames closed the door in his face.

He sat Arthur on the bed. The room was dark, and thankfully well insulated from outside sound. “You’re all right now, Arthur. We’re back in your room,” Eames said, voice low and tone neutral. “I’ll get you some water in a moment,” he added, bending to get Arthur’s shoes off, standing to quickly loosen his tie. He then went to the sink, and filled a glass with water.

Arthur didn’t say anything until Eames handed him the glass. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, tone flat. In contrast to how pale he’d been earlier, his face was now red.

Eames squeezed his shoulder. “You mustn’t apologize. It isn’t your fault,” he said, firm.

“I’ve inconvenienced you, I’ve destroyed our timeline, we’ve got to get this done today,” Arthur continued dully.

“It’s all right. Drink your water,” Eames said, sitting next to Arthur and putting an arm around him, just catching Arthur’s small sigh when he allowed himself to sag against him. Arthur gulped down the water. Eames took the glass when it was empty and set it on the dresser, then settled back against Arthur again, and waited, silent. He watched Arthur in the mirror; his eyes were closed.

Arthur’s breathing lost its ragged edge, and Eames felt him gradually sit up straighter. Opening his eyes, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice sounding like his usual self, that suave tone back in place. “That doesn’t often happen to me.”

“I told you, don’t apologize,” Eames murmured. “Especially not to me, not about that.” His arm was still around Arthur. Strange how natural it felt. But Arthur shrugged him off, and stood, slowly. 

“Cobb said he’d take care of everything himself today. Nap, if you like. I’ll stay here with you,” Eames suggested. 

“I don’t need you to do that,” Arthur said, turning, but there were shadows under his eyes and he looked exhausted, and something in the strain in his delicate features told Eames another story.

“I’d feel better if I did,” Eames said firmly, and Arthur nodded after a moment. He took off his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt before lying down. Eames took off his shoes before stretching out alongside him, not touching him but within reaching distance, facing Arthur, who faced the door. He waited for Arthur to drop off into sleep, and hoped for his sake it was dreamless.

Eames woke some time later, and opened his eyes to see Arthur on his back, blinking at the ceiling. Apparently sensing he was awake, Arthur said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to.”

Arthur looked at the clock on the nightstand, and stood. “I’ll try to track Cobb down, we should all meet for dinner,” he said, picking up his tie. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to freshen up.”

Getting the picture, Eames got to his feet, groggy. “Of course,” he said, and put on his shoes. “Let me know when you’re ready, yeah?” he asked, making his way to the door.

“Eames,” Arthur said, and Eames turned. Arthur had looped his tie under his collar and was holding an end in each hand. He hesitated. “Thank you,” he finally said, lower lip turning down briefly in unhappiness, dark eyes somber and posture perfect.

“Anytime, Arthur,” Eames replied, and went to his room.

\-------

As if they’d all mutually agreed upon it, they had dinner with no discussion of Arthur’s difficulties. Cobb had obtained quite a bit of new information and Arthur was all too happy to grill him on it, back to his usual self. He argued and tore down and suggested and mused aloud until their plates were long since bussed and they were through a bottle of wine.

On their way back to the rooms, Eames waited for a cue from Arthur as to whether anything further was needed from him, but none was forthcoming. They each said their goodnights and individually retired.

At roughly two in the morning Eames was awakened, and came to realize it was by the sound of knocking at the door between his room and Arthur’s. Tensing at first, he cautiously got to his feet and unlocked the door, opening it a crack. There, of course, was Arthur, backlit by the golden glow of the desk lamp in his room. Nodding, Eames let him in, leaving the door partly open.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Arthur rasped. He’d showered before bed, and his hair was a dark halo of damp curls. He was clad in his undershirt, boxers, and socks. “Sorry to wake you,” he added when Eames didn’t say anything.

“Not at all,” Eames said, groggy, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Sorry, just -- it’s no bother, but if you want to talk at this hour I’ll need to get some coffee.” Or if you want anything else, he thought suddenly, slightly alarmed. He did want to shag Arthur, certainly, and while Eames was capable of many appalling things, he didn’t quite think he was game for it under these circumstances. His much younger self would have been very disappointed, fit as Arthur was.

“No, I just want to sleep,” Arthur said, and Eames sagged in relief.

“Right, come on then.” Eames went back to bed, lifted up the covers, and let Arthur in. They assumed the same positions as before, but under the covers and in their underthings this time. Arthur fell asleep in short order, and again Eames wondered if he dreamed at all, and whether his episode had to do with something he’d seen in dream training or in the waking world. Perhaps Arthur would never tell him. Eames could only respect that. And it wasn’t as though Eames were eager to dig up and share the similar nightmares in his own mind.

He woke up again, in the predawn light, to another strange sound, and realized it was coming from Arthur. Half asleep, perhaps, he was trying to sob as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, but he was wracked with it and was lightly shaking the bed regardless. Getting over his surprise, Eames mutely reached for him, and pulled Arthur tight against him. 

Arthur shook in Eames’ hold, his hot tears soaking Eames’ shirt. More than once, he’d begin to subside, taking deep breaths and attempting to quell himself, only to choke and start up again, once with what seemed like a wretched little moan of disgust and exasperation at himself. Eames just held him tighter and kissed his temple. He immediately felt daft for doing so, but Arthur didn’t object, or really seem to notice.

Gradually, he did calm himself, sniffling and sighing, limp from his catharsis. He swallowed hard, and reached for a tissue from the nightstand, hastily wiping his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice thick. “I was trying not to wake you.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s all right,” Eames said, completing his part of what he was realizing was a little ritual.

“Everyone else in my Humvee was killed and when I was in the program and they put me under, they reenacted it and made me watch it,” Arthur said in a rush, as if a dam had broken. “Over and over. I was riding shotgun, we’d stopped and I was getting out. I got out, in real life. In dreams, sometimes we all survived. Sometimes I didn’t get out.”

“Arthur.”

“I got used to it. They had me doing it so much I got used to it, all the variations.” Arthur sighed, watery. “They had to make me realize it was just a dream. They had me doing so many other things, Eames. I had to get used to dying, and killing people. And I still wonder, why did I do it for so long? Why didn’t I leave earlier? Did I want to pretend nothing actually happened, that it was all the PASIV? What kind of marine does that?”

Eames had no answer, and didn’t think Arthur wanted one.

“I loved the games they gave me, the puzzles. Get through this maze before your time is up. Create this building to these specifications. Shoot these projections. I love dreamshare, Eames.” He sighed. “We were told never to let any dreamshare technology fall into civilian or enemy hands, it was highly classified information. Who knew years later we’d be using PASIVs for corporate espionage.” He chuckled softly, and was quiet for some time before murmuring, “Who knew I’d be the only one to make it out of that Humvee.”

“Sleep,” Eames told him, gentle. 

When he awoke, the sun had risen and his bed was empty. The door between his and Arthur’s rooms was closed. Well. Eames wasn’t exactly proud of it, but he could admit to having left a lover’s abode before morning, but at least after he’d had the decency to shag them first. He remembered, then, what Arthur had told him, and felt his stomach drop. He remembered they weren’t lovers at all, and that Arthur had left because he was embarrassed by his own vulnerability.

He showered and dressed, and on instinct went to Cobb’s room. There was Arthur, sitting at the desk and holding forth about building plans as Cobb listened, considering. Arthur was washed and shaved and neat as a pin again, smooth and cool, nothing about him similar to the man in Eames’ bed last night, hair wild and face hot with tears. He must have used eye drops, Eames thought as Arthur looked at him and nodded in polite greeting, a brief hint of apprehension in his eyes until Eames nodded back, somber. He hoped Arthur understood he had nothing to worry about when it came to repeating or throwing in his face anything Arthur had told him or done in his moments of weakness.

They walked through the streets again that day, and while there were a few pops of M-80s in the distance, Arthur was prepared, and only flinched. Eames kept within arm’s distance regardless.

Arthur knocked on his door again that night. “I don’t want to be alone,” he said simply. 

Once Arthur had settled into his bed, Eames asked, “Have you ever told Cobb about any of this?”

Arthur shook his head, frowning slightly, as if Eames’ question surprised him. “He wouldn’t get it. He doesn’t understand.”

Eames hummed, and went quiet. Voice muffled in the pillow, Arthur added, “I know more about you than you might think, Mr. Eames,” and promptly fell asleep, leaving Eames awake with his thoughts, at least for a little while.

When he woke up, Arthur was there, sound asleep, snoring lightly, loose-limbed as a child. Eames got up without waking him, and showered and brushed his teeth. In his sockfeet, trousers, and undershirt, he watched Arthur stretch and stumble to the connecting door. “Don’t want Cobb to come looking for me,” he said through a yawn. Eames nodded, and resumed his getting dressed. Cobb finding Arthur in his bed would raise too many uncomfortable questions, he knew, though he thought that Mallorie would be unsurprised by such a development.

Some time later, Cobb having evidently not surfaced yet, Arthur returned. He was clean and neat, minty fresh, and came over to the mirror where Eames was slicking down his hair, comb in hand. 

“Hm?” he queried, turning slightly to Arthur. 

“Thank you,” Arthur said, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Eames watched, blinking, as he walked back to his room, casual as you please.

\-------

“Do you know, my knee’s never been the same since that heist in La Paz,” Eames remarked, massaging his left kneecap and wincing. He toed off his shoes and looked around their hotel room.

“I do know,” Arthur said, amused, kissing his cheek. “That was our next big job after the Fischer job and all you could talk about every night was your knee.”

“Mm, kiss me properly,” Eames said, maneuvering about to angle their mouths in better proximity, smiling as Arthur kissed him. “I haven’t seen you in nearly a month, there’s been no one to gripe to about my knee who’ll kiss me to get me to shut up about it.”

“I should hope not.” Arthur unnecessarily straightened Eames’ tie, looking down and grinning.

“I don’t know why you always do that,” Eames commented. “It’s your tie that’s always crooked.” He reached to tweak the knot of Arthur’s tie, and had his hand halfheartedly smacked away for his efforts.

“Don’t complain if I look for excuses to touch you,” Arthur rebuked, smiling.

“Never. But you’re being nonsensical, love. I’ve decided we’re going to nap before we go to dinner, so we’ll be taking off our ties anyway.” Eames started to unknot his.

“Is that so?” Arthur shed his coat and sat to unlace his shoes, speedy and nimble as ever. Down to their boxers, they got under the covers.

“Sleep well without me?” Eames asked as Arthur tucked behind him, an arm around his waist as usual.

“No,” Arthur said frankly, and kissed the back of Eames’ neck. “No nightmares, of course, but I did have trouble getting to sleep naturally. Maybe too much coffee, maybe I’m not exercising enough.” He sighed.

“You weren’t…having flashbacks, were you?” Eames looked over his shoulder, concerned, putting a hand over Arthur’s and watching his face.

“Not really.” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t think about that as much as I used to.”

“You just missed me,” Eames teased.

“I already told you I missed you at the airport.” Arthur settled in, one ankle hooked over Eames’. He was surprisingly clingy, was Arthur. Well, perhaps protective was the better term.

“I never object to hearing you say it. But that said, do stop talking, love, it’s time to nap.” Arthur gently bit his shoulder and Eames chuckled softly, closing his eyes.

\-------

After dinner, they undressed once more and got into bed, slightly tipsy. Perhaps it was the wine, but Arthur was somewhat more talkative than usual. Arthur assumed his usual position behind Eames, both in just their boxers, pleasantly tired out from the day.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, suddenly, and kissed the back of Eames’ neck.

“Mm, what did I do?” Eames asked.

“Well, I used to worry you’d tell someone. About… my flashbacks.”

Ah. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’d make me pay for that.”

“But it was more than just that. You’re not the most loyal person in the world, I was afraid you’d keep it in your back pocket and use it against me somehow. You had plenty of opportunity. But you never did, and that used to puzzle me.”

“Whom would I tell?” Eames asked.

“It probably wouldn’t have mattered to anybody, but it mattered to me. A lot of people in dreamshare have similar stories. And you still didn’t tell. It wasn’t a casual anecdote to you, or a joke. ‘Did you know Cobb’s point man freaks out at loud noises sometimes?’” Arthur’s impression of him was atrocious. Eames scoffed.

“I crib stories from the lives of others, love, but I don’t gossip,” Eames said. “Honor among thieves, eh?”

“You do gossip.” Arthur grinned.

“Right, well, not very much, and not about you. And I wouldn’t talk about this. Besides, you’ve plenty of dirt on me. Even back then you did.”

Arthur chuckled, drowsy. “So our relationship is based on our mutual refraining from blackmailing each other.”

“I can think of worse things on which to base a relationship.”

“Mm.” Arthur chuckled again. He was quiet for a while, and Eames thought he’d gone to sleep when he murmured. “It’s been years, Eames, and I still think about it. I’m never going to forget it, am I?”

“Most likely not,” Eames said. “We’re all doomed to remember some things we’d rather forget, I’m afraid.”

“It helps, that you know.” Arthur’s voice was very quiet now. “You know that, don’t you? It helps.”

“Good.” Eames cleared his throat. “You… have helped me as well, you know. For which I am grateful.” There was, thankfully, no need to go into further detail. Unlike the relative openness Arthur had exhibited in confessing his trauma to Eames, it had taken Arthur ages of gentle persistence and the occasional help of gin to unravel Eames’ various sordid bits of history, at least the ones he’d felt comfortable telling Arthur about so far. There were things that could have ended -- and did end -- prior, lesser relationships, but Arthur stuck by him, with a steadfastness that did something funny to Eames’ chest.

Arthur gave a little huffing laugh at his stiltedness. “Are you getting all English on me?” he teased.

“Oh, hush,” Eames mock-groused, pulling Arthur’s arm more tightly over him. 

“All right, all right.” Arthur kissed his shoulder, soothing. “I love it when you get all English on me, you know that.”

“Is that some sort of odd proposition?”

“It does sound kind of dirty. Let’s revisit that tomorrow morning when we’re not so fucking exhausted.” Arthur yawned, and drifted off to sleep. 

As usual, Eames waited until his breathing was slow and steady until he let himself fall asleep, relaxing in Arthur’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/), Bára, Julia, and Liz for all your help!


End file.
